


Two Souls

by Morbidmuch



Category: Country Strong (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2126478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbidmuch/pseuds/Morbidmuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If someone had told her two years ago that she'd be giving up sold out concert halls for a quiet life in a middle-of-nowhere town, she would have laughed. Now, she can't imagine anything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I write on whenever the mood strikes me.

**Open Road**

 

She takes a deep breath, lets the warm air fill her lungs until they are aching. Then she exhales, the air going out the open window. Looking over at him, she smiles. Plaid shirt, Stetson hat, eyes on the road, a slight smile on his face. 

 

“I’m so in love with you I don’t know what to do with myself,” she says, and watches as his smile widens slightly as he glances at her. 

 

“Right back atcha, darling,” he replies, squeezing her hand. She sighs contently, and goes back to looking out the window. The sun is setting, the road stretched out ahead of them seems never-ending. On the radio, a man is singing about a broken road, and she hums along softly. Shifting her position, she scoots closer to him on the bench seat and ducks under his arm, leaning her back against his shoulder and sticking her bare legs out the window. 

 

“ _Now I’m just rolling home, into my lover’s arms,”_ she sings along, covering his hand on her stomach with her own and caressing his fingers. 

 

“ _This much I know, is true. That God blessed the broken road. That led me straight to you,”_ he joins in, the smooth timbre of his voice sending chills down her spine. 

 

Looking out over the horizon, her hand reaches up and touches the diamond star in her right ear. She wears them all the time, only taking them off when she showers or sleeps. They’re the nicest thing anyone has ever given her, and made even more special because of the giver. At times she feels guilty, because she knows they cost him a lot of money; money that he really couldn’t afford to spend in the first place.

 

It’s been almost four months since she walked into Crofton’s Bar and saw him sitting on the small stage, guitar in his lap. It had hit her right away that he looked more at home on that small stage than he ever did on the tour with Kelly Canter. Chiles can’t help but to feel sad when she thinks of her fallen idol. Only a week after the funeral James called her to come work on some songs for the Freedom Tour. A month of intense rehearsing, recording, and fixing everything else you needed before going on a big tour and they set off. Her mood falters somewhat when she thinks about the tour. It seemed like it was doomed from the start, although they sold out every show. Backstage however, things were a mess.

 

Beau can feel she’s deep in thought, her whole body has tensed up against him. Sighing, he realizes she’s thinking about James and that damn tour again. He hasn’t been able to get a lot out of her about what happened, only bits and pieces. She doesn’t want to talk about it, and he gets that. He reacts the same way whenever she accidentally brings up Kelly. Tightening his grip on her fingers, he places a quick kiss on her head before looking back up on the road.

 

“Hey Chiles, I keep forgetting when General MacArthur returned to the Philippines. When was that?” 

 

His voice pulls her from her thoughts and she laughs. “In 1946.” Since that first time in the van, exchanging shy glances and timid smiles, it has become his favorite way to lighten her mood. It works like a charm as well, usually leading to laughter and on occasion her trying to wrestle him. She never wins. “I’m no ignoramus.”

 

He chuckles, and holds her just a bit tighter. “You certainly are not.”

 

\--

 

By the time they reach the small  cabin they call home, it’s pitch black outside. For Chiles, the house is warmth, and love. It’s etched in every panel of wood, every thread of fabric. It's security in a way she's never had before in a home, and some days she has to pinch herself to be reminded that she's not dreaming.

 

They move towards the front door, her tucked under his arm. Beau shuts the door behind them with his foot and switches on the lamp to his right before toeing of his boots. The last time he walked into the house with dirty boots, Chiles nearly had a fit.

 

She stands before him wearing one of her many smiles. He remembers the time she showed him her seven smiles, and that he vowed at that moment to find new ways to make her smile. And he has. There’s the smile she gets when he reminds her how much he loves her, the smile when he finds her most ticklish spot on her waist, and the smile she has when she watches him on the small stage at Crofton’s Bar. Right now though her smile is mischievous, one that he knows well. Reaching up, she plucks the Stetson from his head and places the beige hat on her head.

 

“Giddy up cowboy,” she says through her smile, and no more than a second later Beau has crossed the space between them and pressed his lips against hers. The hat is pulled from her head and thrown somewhere on the floor, then his hands are pushing into her brown locks. Chiles reacts instantly, arms around his shoulders as she presses her body against his. Their kiss is frenzied and hungry, and she moans when his hands leave her hair and instead wrap around her waist. He lifts her with ease, she’s as light as a feather, and they stumble farther into the small living-room. 

 

They stumble and laugh up the stairs, pieces of clothing coming off and being discarded on their way. Once in the bedroom, all that’s left on are Beau’s socks. Chiles sits down on the bed and reaches for him, causing him to groan and throw his head back. Being too impatient, he pushes her hand away and kisses her hard while forcing them both back up on the bed. Now it’s her time to moan in pleasure as he starts kissing his way from her mouth and down to her neck, and over the slopes of her collarbones. His mustache causes goosebumps to break out on her skin as his lips travel over the curves of her body, and she clutches his hair between her fingers.

 

“Beau,” she whimpers, her voice low and breathless. 

 

It doesn’t take long for the air to be filled with the sounds of pleasure, flesh sliding against flesh, and the creaking of bed-springs. She kisses whatever skin she can reach; his mouth, his jaw, the birthmark on his neck, his collarbones. Brown eyes meeting light blue, whispered words in the heat of the moment. One last groan; her back arches and his toes curl. Then, silence.

 

He  moves off her, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling as he regains control of his breathing. She rolls to her side, angling her body against his and leaning her head on his shoulder. There’s a strand of hair laying across her face, and she reaches up to push it back before placing her hand on his chest. Her fingers rub the hair there, and he raises his arm so she can snuggle in closer. 

 

“Do you still like me?” He says after a few moments, a smile on his face as he remembers her words after the first time they did this and he found out she was not as she seemed. 

 

Chiles chuckles, and looks up at him. “I still like you.” She recalls clearly how fast her heart had beaten when  _she_ asked  _him_ that question, and the nervous waiting on the answer. As a shiver runs through her body, Beau reaches down and pulls the quilted cover over them both. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

When he wakes up, he is alone. Sitting up in bed, he rubs his hand over his face. Hearing the gentle sound of a guitar strumming, he smiles to himself. After getting dressed he moves downstairs, and looking out over the living-room he sees Chiles sitting cross legged on the couch with his old acoustic on her lap. There’s a sheet of paper in front of her and her brow is furrowed as she positions her fingers on the fret board.

 

“Stupid chord,” she mutters, and glances at the paper to make sure she’s got it right. Hearing a chuckle to her left, she looks up to see Beau standing there with an amused smile on his face. “Am I amusing you?” 

 

“Of course,” he replies before sitting down next to her. “What’cha playing?” 

 

“ _I’ve got friends in low places,”_ she sings, and he chuckles. 

 

“How’s that working out for ya?” 

 

“I can’t get this stupid chord to sound right.” She hands him the guitar. “Show me?” 

 

“Uh uh,” he shakes his head and pushes the guitar back in her lap. “You won’t learn if you don’t play it yourself. Your fingers will remember how to play the chord. Now show me how you played it.” 

 

Chiles repositions her fingers, and runs her thumb over the strings. A dissonant sound rings from the guitar, and she wrinkles her nose. “See, it sounds horrible.”

 

Beau chuckles. “That’s ‘cause you’re playing it wrong. Move your index finger to the first fret on the fifth string, and then give it another go.”

 

She does as she is told, and plays it again. In her ears, it still sounds wrong, but his encouraging nod tells her she’s doing it right. It's frustrating that the progress is so slow; patience has never been one of her strong suits. Still she keeps playing every morning, and though she doesn't hear much improvement, she knows Beau does.

 

They eat breakfast on the back porch, overlooking the woods. Taking a sip of her coffee, Chiles can't help but to let her thoughts drift away. If someone had told her two years ago that she'd be giving up sold out concert halls for a quiet life in a middle-of-nowhere town, she would have laughed. Now, she can't imagine anything else.

 

“I was thinking we could go into the city today,” Beau says, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. “I need new guitar strings, and we're almost out of milk.” 

 

Her eyes light up. “Can I drive?”

 

Chuckling, he reaches out to touch her cheek. “Not a chance.”

 

“Oh come on, I'm not **that** bad.” 

 

“Do I have to remind you that the last time you drove the truck you almost ran over Mrs Carter's cat?” 

 

“Fine, I won't drive,” she pouts, and he laughs before dragging his thumb over her bottom lip. 

 

His hand slides around to her neck and he pulls her to him for a hard kiss. He pulls away too quickly for her liking, and she smiles. “Tease.”

 

Thirty minutes later they're on their way to the city, the windows rolled down to let in the breeze from the mid-July heat. Merle Haggard plays on the stereo, and Beau reaches out to place his hand on Chiles' bare knee, rubbing her soft skin. He needs to do that from time to time; touch some part of her to make sure she's really there. When she'd stepped into the bar after so many months, he was hardly convinced she was real. Not even after their duet, huddled close to each other over a beer, in the booth furthest from the bar that offered most privacy. She was all soft smiles and no make up, and without that beauty queen plastic wrap she used to cover herself in. Then she'd touched him, her soft hand on his calloused one and he couldn't stop himself from pulling her close, kissing her deeply and hungrily, his hand behind her head and the brim of his hat pushing against her forehead.

 

They roll into the city right before noon, and after a few minutes of stoplights and queues he parks the truck at the curb by the music store. They walk in hand in hand, but split up once inside: Beau going over to the shelves overloaded with guitar picks and strings, while Chiles wanders to the used instruments section. He watches her for a second, seeing her fingers reach out to touch the neck of a sunburst Gibson acoustic he knows she's been eyeing for weeks. Picking out new strings isn't hard; he knows what he's getting, and he takes a handful of guitar picks as well. The damned things seem to disappear as soon as he gets them home.

 

Chiles pulls the strap over her head, pulls her hair up and carefully arranges her fingers in the chord she played earlier that day. The sound that it produces is slightly sour sounding, and she winces, but is pleased that the sound is due to an out of tune guitar rather than her playing the chord wrong.

 

Changing the chord, she sings softly. “ _ If I die young, bury me in satin. Lay me down on a bed of roses, sink me in the river at dawn.”  _

 

She stops when she feels a tugging on her skirt, and looks down. A girl of about seven stands there, with curly red hair and round blue eyes. “Excuse me, aren't you Chiles Stanton?”

 

“Why, yes I am,” she answers, and much to her chagrin she feels her voice rise in tone, and the old rehearsed beauty queen makes an appearance for the first time in almost five months. “What is your name, pretty girl?” She pulls the guitar over her head and puts it back in its holder. 

 

“I'm Linda. My mom took me to your show in San Francisco. You're my favorite singer, I want to be just like you when I grow up.” 

 

“Chiles, are you ready?” His voice comes from behind her, and she turns her head. As their eyes meet, she smiles. Her smile is fake. 

 

“I'll be right with you.” She turns back to the girl in front of her. “I have to go, but it was very nice to meet you, Linda. Tell your mom I said hi!” 

 

She walks to the exit with Beau following, his brow furrowed and his jaw locked tight. Once outside, he takes her by the arm and pulls her aside. “What the hell was that?”

 

She drops her gaze to the plastic bag in his hand.  The Sounding Hole is printed in green on the white bag, and under is the silhouette of a guitar. “I don't know what you mean,” she mumbles. 

 

Gently, he clasps her face in his hands and tilts her head up. He steps in closer and ducks his head to meet her eyes. “You wanna tell me why my girlfriend was replaced with Country Barbie in there?”

 

“She recognized me, said her mom took her to see my show in San Francisco.” Her voice is low, and her eyes downcast. She hates talking about that time in her life. Taking a deep breath and exhaling with a huff, she raises her eyes to meet his. “I'm not the same woman I was back then, and I didn't want her to be disappointed.” 

 

He sighs, and strokes her cheeks. “Sugar, no one could ever be disappointed in you. You are ten times the woman you were back then.”

 

She holds back the words that will prove him wrong, and instead covers his hands with hers and manages a smile.

 

 


End file.
